PigPimples Camp for Troubled Freaks Like You!
by LibraHorse
Summary: This is a story about what would happen if Harry and company attended a Muggle day camp instead of Hogwarts. Note: THIS IS A PARODY. If parodies offend you, just go read something else.
1. Prologue and The Bus Arrives

_A/N: Er… looks sheepish Sorry, guys. I totally did what I said I wasn't gonna do. I totally abandoned this story. So I was on the computer today, and I was looking for my English essay, when I ran across this, and I felt really bad about it. So I'm re-posting the first three chapters, after I've revised them to get rid of some grammatical weirdness and other things, and I'm gonna do my very best to finish what I've started. I hope you guys don't hate me too much for this. _

_DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT JKR! If I were JKR, I would most certainly not be making fun of my own books like this. This story is really stupid, so if you don't like parodies, this is definitely NOT for you. This story is about what would happen if the Harry Potter books took place in the muggle universe. (Specifically at PigPimples Camp for Troubled Freaks Like You.)_

PROLOGUE

It was a fine Halloween evening, and James and Lily Potter had just finished assaulting the teenagers who had come to egg their beautiful suburban house. As the last gangly, zit-faced, hormonal adolescent limped across the lawn, James turned to Lily and asked, "Well, what should we do now?" Lily considered this for a moment. She was gazing around the house, and hoping that something interesting might catch her eye. Suddenly, her eyes fell upon their baby son, Harry and she exclaimed "Hey, I've got an idea! Let's go make another one of those!" James looked slightly enthused at the prospect, but then a rather morbid thought struck him.

"Yeah, but the last time we did that, you got all fat and stuff…" James was cut off by his wife's imperious glare. "…but you're beautiful when you're pregnant, so let's go for it!" After that incredibly brilliant save, James and Lily trotted happily off towards their bedroom, leaving Harry unattended in the living room. In the middle of their passionate love-making, they were interrupted by a loud crash coming from somewhere downstairs. Lily paused momentarily as she wondered what was going on. James charged downstairs (completely forgetting that he was naked at the time) and searched for the source of the loud noise. Suddenly, a voice spoke behind him, deadly and quiet.

"It's eleven o'clock. Do you know where your child is?" As he turned around to meet the voice, James realized that his worst fear had come true—it was Voldemort, the failed social worker turned into a serial killer. The lethal whispers continued.

"So, you thought you'd leave Harry here to fend for himself, did you? Thought you'd go screw your ugly wife while your poor little child sat here alone, did you? Well you thought wrong!" Lily chose this particular moment to conveniently run down the stairs and observe the mayhem. When she saw that her beloved son was in the arms of a serial killer, her knees buckled and she fell at Voldemort's feet. Voldemort shot James with the gun that he had cleverly hidden in his cloak. Lily rushed up to defend her baby son, but Voldemort bashed her head in with a lamp. There was a blinding flash, and Voldemort dropped Harry on the ground, face first. Harry landed on some shards of broken glass, and a bloody gash shaped like a lightning bolt appeared, the blood gleaming in the moonlight. Voldemort took one look at the scene and bolted. He fled to a far away place where no one would catch him. The only sounds in the room were that of a baby sobbing hysterically. Baby Harry slowly crawled over to his dead mother's arms and passed out.

_A/N: I know this part wasn't about the camp, but I'm getting there!_

TEN YEARS LATER…

Eleven-year old Harry Potter woke up rather abruptly. It seemed, at first, that he was being squished like a bug getting stepped on. The truth was that he was getting squished like a scrawny eleven-year-old boy being sat on by his sickeningly obese, yet immensely spoiled, cousin.

"WAKE UP, MORON! It's my birthday, so mum says that if you burn breakfast today, she's gonna stick your face in the stove!" And with that, Dudley waddled out of the room as fast as his legs would allow, pausing momentarily to free himself from the doorway. After his parents had been discovered dead, Dumbledore, a very famous social worker, had sent Harry off to live with his evil aunt and uncle. These people weren't just ordinary evil. They were sick and twisted people, hardly fit to raise their own child, let alone someone elses's. Harry absentmindedly stretched while attempting to climb out of his cardboard box without ripping it. The Dursleys only bought him a new box every three months. Harry sighed and began to get dressed. After a moment's disgust, he tied the frilly, French-looking apron around his waist, hoping that the Dursleys would let him take it off after he finished cooking breakfast this time. True to her word, Petunia Dursely rudely shoved Harry's face into the stove upon finding a single piece of bacon that was slightly overdone. Harry's scar burned and blistered.

"How did I get this scar, anyway?" he wondered aloud.

"Your idiot parents dropped you on the head, most likely," muttered Harry's Uncle Vernon. Harry chose to ignore this biting remark, mainly because he didn't want to admit that it might be true. As the day progressed, Harry passed the time by entertaining himself with thoughts of what the night that he was taken away from his parents was like. _They probably put up a good fight. I bet that social worker wished that he never walked into my house!_ Harry's thoughts were interrupted, once again, by Uncle Vernon.

"BOY! Get down here, now! The bus is waiting!" Harry threw himself down the stairs in his haste to comply. As he nursed his latest wounds, he did indeed spy a bus waiting in the street. At least it was a real bus this time. Just last Tuesday, Uncle Vernon had tricked Harry into going outside for the newspaper and had locked him out for the next three days.

"What's with the bus?" asked Harry.

"You're going to summer camp. It's for troubled freaks like you," snarled Vernon.

"Why?"

"Because I SAID SO! NOW GET ON THE DAMN BUS!" Before Harry could obey his orders, an extremely large man ripped the door off of the hinges and stormed in.

"What the devil's been taking you so long? The bus is waiting for you!" shouted the man, throwing the remnants of the door, knocking out Dudley in the process. This stranger was kind of scary looking, and Harry strongly suspected that he was on steroids. Not wishing to anger the man, Harry meekly asked,

"Um… sir? Who are you?"

"WHO AM I? I'm Rubeus Hagrid, sports director and bus driver at PigPimples Camp for Troubled Freaks Like You." Hagrid looked immensely proud of himself for achieving the aforementioned position. Harry was about to ask another question, but he was rudely shoved out the door by the combined forces of Vernon and Hagrid. Hagrid charged up towards the waiting bus, leaving crater-like footprints as he went. Harry tentatively approached the doors. They swung open, and he climbed inside, not knowing what was coming next…

_A/N: Again, sorry about being such a sucky person. I hope that the revision makes the story less bad, and helps you guys forgive me. Reviewers still get free e-brownies!_


	2. The Sorting

_A/N: Whatup, homies? Hahaha. Now that I'm done being ghetto for the day, on with the story! Oh, and blah blah blah, I don't own JKR. _

_**When we last left off…**_

"_Harry tentatively approached the doors. They swung open, and he climbed inside, not knowing what was coming next…"_

Harry surveyed the mass chaos that was currently ensuing, and began to feel a little panicky. These feelings were not at all alleviated upon the realization that the windows were all blocked off by iron bars. Shaking off his fears, Harry took another step forward. He paused momentarily, and tried to figure out where to sit. As he wandered, the bus engine protested with a large "**KAPOW**" and started, throwing Harry face-first to the back of the bus.

A/N: Anybody who has ever ridden on a school bus knows that all of the cool kids sit in the back of the bus, because it's farthest away from the driver. (I thought I'd just put that in there…)

As he struggled to his feet, Harry was met by the snarling face of a tall, pale, blond boy who looked like a mini-Abercrombie male model. Unfortunately, the boy's otherwise perfect face was twisted by a scowl.

"Umm… I'm H-h-harry Potter," stammered Harry. "Who are you?" The pale boy's scowl became even more twisted at this, almost to the point where his mouth did a full 360, and the strange boy snarled, "I'm Dracula Malfunction, but I thought everyone knew that already." Dracula smirked some more before continuing. "So, are you really Harry Potter?" Harry was about to make some smart-aleck remark when he realized that he was roughly half the size of everyone else in this area of the bus, and decided that being a bit more polite was more conducive to staying alive.

"Yeah, I'm Harry…why do you ask?" This was met by a loud chorus of guffaws, and Dracula spoke again.

"Wait, lemme get this straight—_you're_ the boy with the loony parents who let their kid almost get killed by Voldemort! What a loser… Crabbe, Goyle, get him out of my sight."

_A/N: I must admit, coming up with the name "Dracula Malfunction" was not my idea, alas, it was entirely the dedicated work of SpellCheck. Anyway, back to the story:_

On that note, Harry was rudely shoved towards a gangly-looking boy with a mop of fiery-red hair. Harry turned to the new boy and asked, "What's up with that Malfunction kid's face?" The red-headed boy replied, matter-of-factly,

"Well, nobody _really_ knows what happened, but rumor has it that his parents decided that his face was unbearably ugly, so they force-fed him some illegally imported Botox. It's really quite an improvement, if you ask me. By the way, I'm Ron Weasley. I bet you're Harry Potter, right?" Harry looked only slightly taken aback before replying.

"Yeah. Lemme guess—the scar tipped you off, right?" Ron murmured something in assent as he began unwrapping a package from his backpack. Without warning, his face started to go red, making it almost indistinguishable from his hair.

"Something wrong?" questioned Harry, feeling slightly concerned. He peered over to see what was in the package that could have caused such a reaction, but only saw a sandwich. Feeling panicky, he asked Ron, "Are you allergic to something in the sandwich?" Ron made no immediate reply, and Harry was about to perform the Heimlich maneuver when the real problem became apparent.

"I HATE CORNED BEEF!" shouted Ron. At the same time, his eyes turned purple, and green laser jets shot from each of them, creating large holes in the walls of the bus. Startled, a toad gave a loud croak and hopped through the hole. A somewhat chubby boy yelled, "TREVOR, NO!" and hurtled himself off of the bus after the toad, and was almost immediately killed by a passing car. Ron stood up and shot green lasers at the boy, and a few seconds later he disappeared, and then reappeared in his original seat on the bus. Upon seeing this rather shocking display of telekinesis, a girl with a bird's nest in her hair rushed over.

"Oh, my gawd! That was, like totally, the awesomest telekinetic show of powers I've seen, like, ever! You totally need to do that again so I can, like, document it!" Without questioning the girl, Ron complied, and shot some more lasers at the bird's nest in her hair. Suddenly, the smell of burning hair filled the bus and the girl, who was now on the verge of tears yelled, "Like, what was that for? You totally ruined my hairdo!" Ron looked shocked at the girl's dismay and replied, "I was only trying to help you get that bird's nest out of your hair! You should be thankful!" The girl merely ran off, now openly sobbing, shouting something incoherent about people who were too dumb to tell twigs from hair. Harry, who was now quite puzzled, turned to Ron, meaning to question him some more, when the bus came to an abrupt stop, flinging the poor children at Hagrid's feet.

"All right, now! Get off the bus before I throw you lot into the river!" Hagrid thundered off of the bus, leaving giant-shaped foot-prints on the stairs. Shocked, Harry asked Ron, "Is he on steroids or something?" Receiving an imperious glare as opposed to a reply, Harry quickly stammered "Uh…Just kidding! Jay kay, jay kay…" Feeling that this was somehow less offensive, Ron turned and vented his frustration on the nearest tree. The children gently navigated their way down the steps, being careful to avoid the newly-formed craters, and stared at the cabin in front of them. It was just now that Harry realized that all of the other kids were carrying really big sticks with them as they hurried towards the cabin. After momentarily entertaining the thought that the children were about to attend a Teddy Roosevelt seminar, he turned once more to Ron and asked, "Why does everyone have large sticks with them?" Ron gave Harry an incredulous look before replying. "You don't have a marshmallow stick?" Harry shook his head, and Ron sighed, obviously quite annoyed at Harry's naivety. "Come here," he said. The two stole away from the group, and Harry followed Ron around the back of the cabin, to a rather suspicious-looking tent that was halfway concealed by trees. Ron knocked on the tent flap and yelled, "Hey, Oliver! Are you in here?" The two boys waited for a long time. Just when they had given up, a scrawny albino boy appeared at the tent opening.

"Need a stick?" he asked. Harry nodded, and the boy he assumed was Oliver led them inside the tent. Harry gazed around, dumbfounded at the sheer number of twigs that were organized about the walls. Oliver whipped out a measuring tape and measured Harry's arms and from his waist to his feet, and then dove face-first into a particularly large pile of sticks that was lying in the middle of the tent. Harry looked at Ron questioningly, but Ron merely made a noncommittal gesture and sat down on a bunk. Oliver resurfaced with a handful of sticks and shoved one at Harry.

"Here, try this one." Harry doubtfully took the stick and held it for a moment, but it was immediately snatched from his hands and replaced with another one. This continued for a few minutes before, much to Harry's shock, one of the sticks lit on fire in his hands. Oliver's bloodshot eyes lit up momentarily, but his happiness was quickly cloaked in indifference. Harry thanked Oliver, and he and Ron made their way towards the cabin once more. As they approached, Harry could see all of the campers and counselors gathered around a large bonfire. Harry warily walked towards the gathering, unsure of what would happen next. Just then, a mean-looking counselor hollered into her megaphone, "ALL FIRST-YEAR CAMPERS GET IN A CIRCLE AROUND THE CAMPFIRE!" When nobody immediately complied, she raised the megaphone once more. "NOW, DAMMIT!" The smallest of the campers complied without hesitation, and the counselor dropped the megaphone. However, it appeared that the megaphone made her voice softer, not louder. She continued to shout, "All of you snot-nosed freaks get out your marshmallow sticks." It was then that the children realized that a really short, old dude was passing out marshmallows to every first-year child. Harry began to wonder if they were really just fattening them all up to be eaten, but his thoughts were, once again, interrupted by the megaphone.

"One at a time, starting with, um….you," the counselor pointed at a random camper, "you idiots are going to roast your marshmallow. If you're dumb enough to burn it to a crisp, we're going to assume that you're cunning or something put you in the Slytherin cabins. If you somehow manage to cook it perfectly, you're gonna be in the Ravenclaw cabins, and we're gonna say that you're smart. If you cook it somewhere in-between golden brown and burnt, we'll assume that you're brave enough to risk burning your marshmallow and put you in the Gryffindor cabins. Also, if you're a bigger idiot then we planned on, and you just eat your marshmallow before you get a chance to roast it, we're going to put you in the Hufflepuff cabins. Any questions?" The first-years looked quite shocked at this haphazard method of determining someone's abilities. Regardless, they all submitted to the counselor's demands. Harry took a deep breath and tried to focus on the child now roasting her marshmallow. She seemed quite nervous, and she ripped the marshmallow off of the stick and shoved it in her mouth before it even touched the flames, and was sent off to the Hufflepuff cabin. Soon, it was Dracula's turn.

The stick had barely even grazed the bonfire before it erupted into a fireball and disintegrated. Harry noticed that there was an empty can of gasoline lying next to Dracula's friend Crabbe. All of Dracula's friend's marshmallows reacted in a similar manner, and they were all put in Slytherin. Before he could fully process what was going on, the bitchy lady with the megaphone yelled at him to roast his marshmallow before she threw him into the fire. Harry tried to focus on getting it perfectly brown, but there was a small burnt spot that he neglected to see, so he was put in Gryffindor. The author felt slightly tired of describing a bunch of idiots try to roast marshmallows at this point, so she just decided to tell you all that Ron got into Gryffindor, as did the weird, bushy-haired valley girl, and the (now immortal) boy with his toad. Oddly enough, there was one camper named Blaise Zabini, who was a Slytherin, who appeared to be half-boy and half-girl. This above all made Harry strongly suspect that the Slytherins were all really mean and nasty, and that he would undoubtedly have many confrontations with them, particularly Dracula. Anybody else who was in Hufflepuff isn't important enough to mention, so just forget about them.

The students were ushered into the dining hall, and the first-year students were amazed to see that the ceiling was…

_A/N: Hey, slightly less sucky than the original, no? I guess there's something to be said for proofreading, after all. So in the next chapter, someone says "Peachy keen" and someone else eats a grapefruit. I know, you're DYING to find out who. Is it…Dumbledore? Ron? Harry? Blaise? Someone else? Stay tuned, folks…_


	3. Breakfast

_A/N: Hey, it's me again. This is the last pre-written chapter! After this, it'll get more interesting for those of you who've already read this thing once._

DISCLAIMER: I'm not JKR, nor do I own her. I didn't invent Spell Check or Botox, and I don't own Lays Potato Chips, Tony the Tiger, Frosted Flakes, or Calvin and Hobbes. So get over it.

_The students were ushered into the dining hall, and the first-year students were amazed to see that the ceiling was…_painted to look like the sky outside! (Bet you weren't expecting that! It gets better, I promise)

_That's a really realistic looking paint-job. It looks just like there's no ceiling at all! _Impressed, Harry rushed off to sit with his fellow marshmallow-impaired Gryffindors. Just to make things interesting, Harry sat down between Ron and the bushy-haired girl. Ron was staring at the paper plates in front of him anxiously, and the girl was spouting off random tidbits about nature that were entirely made up.

"…and this one time, I read in a book that beavers are, like, cannibals or something—but only on Wednesdays! Isn't that, like, totally weird?" The girl appeared to be talking to the ceiling in a dazed sort of manner. Harry tapped the boy across from him on the shoulder and asked, "Who _is_ that girl?"

"That's Hermione Granger. She's here because she's got an extremely rare and severe form of ADD. It's actually kind of sad. I'm a CIT, so I know these things. For instance, see that guy over there?" The boy pointed at a nervous-looking counselor, and Harry nodded. "That's Counselor Quarrel.

_A/N: Once again, names brought to you by Spell Check._

"He went to Vegas and lost it all. He didn't even keep the shirt on his back He had to sell illegal Botox to make a living until he could find a real job… it's a pity what happened to that Malfunction boy… Anyway, he also has Tourette Syndrome and epilepsy, so the only job that he could possibly get was working here, and that's only because Dumbledore is too stupid to realize what idiots most of his teachers are. Of course, I'm a CIT, so I know all about it. Dumbledore tells the CITs everything…. I guess he just really appreciates our influence in matters such as—" It appeared that he was about to say something more when Ron interrupted him.

"Percy, nobody cares about you being a CIT! I'm so sick of hearing about it! So just SHUT UP!" Ron's eyes turned a violent shade of violet and green jets erupted from them once more, this time towards the ceiling. However, something strange happened—the rays didn't cause any holes! Frustrated, Ron shot more jets at the elusive ceiling, but nothing happened. Thoroughly embarrassed, Percy turned to Ron and said,

"You ignoramus! Of all of our siblings, you're quite possibly the dumbest. There is no ceiling there! There were budget cuts this year so that the CITs could all get matching T-shirts, so they broke up the ceiling and sold the wood as scrap! You know, it's a good thing that Dumbledore trusts us CITs with important things like this because otherwise who knows what would happen…" Percy continued, gesturing wildly, but nobody other than Hermione seemed to be paying any attention. Subdued, Ron sat down, and everyone in the room immediately got really bad sunburns, due to the fact that Ron's telekinetic powers had just completely destroyed the ozone layer. Trying to ignore the third degree burns covering most of his body, HarryThankfully, Harry's attention was grabbed by the sight of an old guy with a weird hat tapping on his paper cup in a poor attempt to gain control. When this failed to get the camper's attention, the bitchy lady with the megaphone stood up and hollered, "CORK IT, YOU BRATS!" Once everyone had been sufficiently mentally scarred, the creepy old guy stood up.

"Hello! I am the great Albus Dumbledore! To all of our first years, allow me to make introductions to our fine staff members. All of you have met Hagrid, who is our bus driver and sports director." Hagrid jumped to his feet and waved to everybody. "Now, this," said Dumbledore, inclining his head towards the mean megaphone lady, "Is Counselor McGonagall. She is the very best swimming instructor there is. And _this_," Dumbledore paused and gestured at a scrawny, oily-skinned man who was wearing all black and eating a grapefruit, "is Counselor Snape. He will be teaching you all arts and crafts. Counselor Flitwick," a scarily short man waved cheerfully, "will be your cooking instructor. Counselor Sprout," Dumbledore indicated a dumpy sort of woman who was completely covered in dirt, "will be your hiking instructor! Over here," Dumbledore pointed at Quarrel, "is Counselor Quarrel. He will be teaching you interpretive dance. Also, I must mention that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden, except if you get punished. Now, let us feast upon our delightful meal of overcooked meat!"

"Umm… Is he a bit mad?" asked Harry to no one in particular. Although the question was asked to no one in particular, Percy saw fit to answer it anyway.

"Well, one in a position of authority like mine tends not to insult his employer, but, yes, he _is_ a bit mad. Want some potato chips?" Harry gladly snatched the bag of Lays out of Percy's hands and inhaled the contents in under thirty seconds. A plate of sandwiches was being passed around, and Ron took one. Harry watched warily as he unwrapped it. Thankfully, there was no corned beef to be found, and everybody heaved a great sigh of relief and rubbed their sore sunburns. Nothing else interesting happened, unless you count Percy using the phrase "Dumbledore trusts the CITs because…" or "The CITs have so much responsibility when it comes to…" in every single sentence. When it was apparent that everyone had finished eating, Dumbledore stood up once more and made yet another, albeit smaller, speech.

"I most sincerely hope that everyone's dinner has been quite peachy keen! So now, it is my duty as head counselor to inform the first-years that Slytherin Cabin is on the right, Hufflepuff is straight ahead, Ravenclaw is behind the dining hall, next to the illegal marshmallow stick tent that you think I don't know about, and Gryffindors will be best off heading towards the left of the dining hall. If anyone has any concerns at all, please do not hesitate to locate your cabin's head counselor. Good night to you all!"

The plastic folding chairs were all knocked over in everyone's haste to get to the cabins and claim a good bunk for him or herself. Harry and Ron followed Percy to get to the Gryffindor cabin. To Harry's dismay, all of the "good" bunks appeared to be taken, but everyone scattered when Ron appeared, afraid of angering him, and thus aggravating their sunburns. Everyone immediately felt exhausted (much too tired to notice the sleeping powder under their pillows) and fell asleep within seconds.

Harry's head was filled with strange thoughts that somehow wormed his way into his dreams. He dreamt that Quarrel was about to inject some Botox into his scar, but then Snape attacked him. Suddenly, there was a flash of light and Harry woke up—completely refreshed and unaware of the possible foreshadowing that the author could be attempting to use. Harry sat upright in his bed, and then was smacked down again. _Wow, _thought Harry, _this is just like being at home, except in a bunk bed, not a closet_ _with a low celing!_ Without any hesitation at all, Harry and Ron rushed off to the dining hall, trying to avoid Hermione as they went.

"I swear to God, if I hear anything else about those god-damned beavers again, I'm gonna smack her upside the head!" Harry nodded in assent. The two new best friends entered the dining hall and grabbed some of those mini cardboard bowls of cereal that you can put the milk in with. Harry was relishing his Frosted Flakes when, all of a sudden, McGonagall grabbed her megaphone and hollered, "YOU BRATS HAD BETTER GET YOUR SCHEDULES NOW!" Ron shrugged at Harry, so they waited in line for about five and a half minutes. As they approached the cranky counselor, Hagrid stage-whispered in Harry's ear, "Psst! Come to my cabin later. Don't tell _anyone_! Oh, yeah, and you can bring your red-headed friend if you want to." Hagrid snuck off, which is a hard thing to pull off when you're on steroids, but he somehow managed it. Oblivious to the obviously suspicious activity going on around them, Harry and Ron continued waiting. Ron got bored, so he decided to scare some Gryffindor first-year girls by killing them with his laser-ray powers.

_A/N: And that's my theory on why Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati don't have more roommates._

Finally, they were at the front of the line. McGonagall threw some papers at them and hollered into her megaphone, "NEXT!" Harry quickly skimmed through his papers until he found the one with his schedule on it. To his dismay, he had arts and crafts scheduled first. Harry _hated_ arts and crafts. Ever since that noodle incident at school… He shuddered just thinking about it. Conveniently, Ron and Harry had the same exact schedules, so they frolicked happily off towards the Art Hall.

_A/N: Yeah, this is getting less funny as it goes on. I'm going to work on that next time, I swear. Thanks for reading this far, and stay tuned!_


End file.
